


Angel's Hill

by i_am_therefore_i_fight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Little Mermaid AU, M/M, also warning for.... i guess conceptual self-harm?, except not mermaids, like the original sad version where she turns into sea foam, plus possible implication of sexual favors if you catch that, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 18:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_therefore_i_fight/pseuds/i_am_therefore_i_fight
Summary: Sam Winchester is getting married. Dean's time is up.





	Angel's Hill

> * * *
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>  
> 
>  
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> _But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more._
> 
> _Hans Christian Andersen_
> 
>  

* * *

 

“A lot of you have heard the story.

“When I was a baby, there was a fire in my childhood home. My parents, unfortunately, were both killed. By all rights, I should have been, too. But I survived.

“After my parents died, I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Bobby and Ellen. And they always made sure that I knew what happened, what the neighbors had seen - a little boy carrying me out of the house, untouched by the flames. A little boy that disappeared before the fire trucks got there. They always made sure I knew that an angel had been sent to save me from the fire. That someone was watching over me.

“Recently, Luke and I started dating, and he was my angel in a different way. Always patient, always kind. Always there when I needed him.”

Sam pauses, eyes sweeping the rapt crowd. His gaze lingers on the empty Best Man’s chair, and he momentarily loses concentration, a lump rising in his throat.

_He said he would be here._

Seated at Sam’s side, his brand-new husband reached up to place a hand on the small of his back. When Sam glances down, disoriented, Lucifer gives him an encouraging smile.

Sam blinks at him, then lifts his eyes back to the attentive guests, trying to recover the lost thread of his thoughts.

_Don’t think about it. He’s not here. Just let it go._

“Then,” he continues, a little more roughly, “not long ago, Luke and I were talking. He was telling me a story from his childhood. And everything started to fall into place.

“That was the day I discovered that Luke was my angel in more ways than one. When he was four years old, he rescued a baby from a burning building. And that baby was me.

“I owe him my life. And now, he has my heart.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so glad you could all join us today - on this, the happiest day of my life. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The pain is more intense now than it’s ever been before, and Dean finishes vomiting and slumps back against the reassuring warmth of the Impala’s side, wiping his mouth with the back of a shaky hand.

Wings flutter, and the shadows shift around him; then his sisters are there, crouching on the tarmac beside him and throwing light in every direction, defying the twilight.

Dean squints, shielding his eyes; once his vision adjusts, he lowers his hand.

“Dean,” says Charlie, reaching for him - but her golden hands can’t touch his human form, and she withdraws, brow creasing anxiously.

Dean’s throat closes, though his eyes remain dry. God, he wants her to touch him. Agony radiates from the pit of his stomach to every nerve in his body, searing his eyelids, burning his fingertips. He wants to be held.

“Dean,” says Jo with authority, although she won’t meet his eyes; her gaze is fixed somewhere over his left shoulder, and he sees with a sinking heart that her pupils are milky - another victim of the Morning Star. “We brought you something.”

A knife glimmers in her outstretched hands. A sharp, bittersweet pain flickers in Dean’s chest, as if Jo has thrust the knife between his ribs instead of offering it to him on flat palms.

“From the Morning Star,” says Jo, as if Dean couldn’t have guessed. “We traded for it. He took my sight.”

Dean’s eyes flick to Charlie. Her cheeks heat up and she drops her eyes; even if he had a voice, he wouldn’t ask her what she traded.

“Use it on Sam,” continues Jo, “and you can have your wings back. That’s the contract.”

Use it on Sam? After everything he’s been through, just to  _be_  with Sam? After giving up his voice, his  _wings_ , just for the chance to be  _near_  the man who was once a baby in a burning building - a baby that Dean  _saved_ , with whom he’s been enthralled ever since?

But Sam doesn’t know that. He believes Lucifer’s tale of having rescued him heroically from the flames, and with no voice and fingers too stricken with hot pain to write, Dean can never contradict the lie.

Agony like a stroke of lightning bursts through all of his nerves, sending him into a silent convulsion, folding over double with his face pressed to the asphalt. His sisters flex their wings in vain, sensing his anguish, but unable to do anything in their golden and ethereal forms. Oh, how he longs to be like them, beyond pain and suffering, beyond the torment of a broken heart.

Gasping soundlessly, cheek pressed into the tarmac, he squeezes his eyes shut.

_I can’t. I can’t._

“Dean,  _please_ ,” says Charlie, choked with tears.

_He won’t even know. He’ll never know it was me._

_It was me. Sammy, it was me._

 

* * *

 

Sam stops in the middle of the parking lot, and Lucifer turns, frowning.

“Sam?”

He follows Sam’s gaze and sees the sleek black 1967 Impala parked just meters away, engine still clicking as it cools. His eyes narrow.

“Sam…”

“Hang on,” Sam says, slipping his hand out of his husband’s and going to investigate. Dean  _came_ , and then just  _sat_  in the  _parking lot_? He was supposed to be the Best Man! He was supposed to be  _inside_ , green eyes glimmering under the soft golden lights, smiling until his cheek dimpled and rising to his feet to applaud after Sam’s speech. Hell, he was supposed to  _make_  a speech! Why the hell didn’t he come inside?

He makes a loop around the car, hunting for clues to his best friend’s whereabouts, but there’s no sign of Dean. Bemused, he opens the driver’s side door - and stares, uncomprehending, at the dusting of graceful white feathers over the leather seat, too long even for swan’s feathers.

“Sam?” says Luke, but Sam doesn’t seem to hear him, ducking into the cab of the car. When he withdraws, he looks confused and upset, fist clenched tight around something.

“Sam?” Lucifer says again, softly, and Sam turns to look at him. He’s struck by the haunted expression on his husband’s face.

Sam looks down at his fist, and unfolds his fingers. A set of keys lays in his palm, glimmering in the moonlight.

“He left the keys,” he says numbly.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at i-am-therefore-i-fight.tumblr.com/post/160004503803/angels-hill


End file.
